ADRIAN
Breakfast doesn't happen. I head to my office to get through a couple of reports first and don't come out until midday.
Roan's tally from the evening raid is on my desk. Fourteen rogues on the eastern approach. We lost nobody and took four wounded.
Nine of theirs dead, one taken alive who died before the sun came up without saying anything worth writing down. The rest went back into the trees.
I go back through the last five days and add it up.
Sixty-two of them. Against three of ours dead and forty-odd hurt.
I sit back.
Rogues come for meat and territory. They come in the weak season, when the borders are thin and the pack is stretched.
They come once. Hard.
And if it costs them too much, they leave and find somebody easier.
These ones keep coming.
Why? I don't know
